


Acquiescence

by Elleth



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bechdel Test Pass, F/F, Femslash, Fluff, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-21
Updated: 2013-06-21
Packaged: 2017-12-15 17:43:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleth/pseuds/Elleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nelyafinwen Maitimë meets her cousin Findekániel Astaldë, they are drawn irrevocably toward each other, but will they overcome Maitimë's reservations and the strictures society imposes on them? (Not very serious Rule 63'd fluff with a mildly Austenite bend.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acquiescence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CollyWobbleKiwi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollyWobbleKiwi/gifts), [havisham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/gifts).



> Begun for B2MeM 2012 and continued for SoWD 2013. All prompts are from Bingo Number O62 on March 25th: All OCs: A Twin, Femslash: AU, Snippets of Verse: Art's hid causes are not found, Women of the Silmarillion: Passing the Bechdel Test.
> 
> Many thanks to Zeen for her beta.

It was widely known and agreed upon throughout Tirion that Nerdanel and Fëanáro's eldest daughter was a rare beauty even during her _essekilmë_ ceremony in her childhood, and as she grew toward maturity many eyes rested upon her. The celebration of her fiftieth begetting day and introduction as full member of society was a widely-attended event, and her long, coppery hair openly became the envy of many of the ladies at court. A profitable business surrounding hair bleaches and dyes sprang up in the wake of the festivities, so that Nelyafinwen Maitimë soon found herself surrounded by fawning would-be lookalikes. That few ladies could rival her even powdered, perfumed and painted was only a small comfort, and she soon came to despise social gatherings, rather preferring the company of her younger brother Makalaurë, and her family's large gardens and substantial library. The apology that she was of gentle moods and exceedingly humble was easily made (even if both Nerdanel and Fëanáro had become quite adept at hiding their laughter saying it), but whenever she withdrew thus, the gossips of the city stated, only half as mocking as they were about others, Laurelin seemed to lose some of her lustre and Telperion some of his light.  
  
But as fate willed it, Maitimë could not entirely avoid all social events, and the impending one less than most, for the sake of peace and diplomacy: Her uncle's oldest daughter, Findekániel Astaldë was returning from the courts of Tulkas where she had undergone training and tutoring in accordance with her wishes to be an athlete. Being of royal blood, but not expected to succeed to any high position, she was allowed to pursue her fancies, although Nolofinwë could be heard muttering every so often that his wife's insistence on coining Findekániel's mother-name after Tulkas' moniker was to blame for all this. But in after-days, most people agreed that Findekániel indeed was a remarkable blend of both Anairë (who, despite her name, was not quite holy) and Nolofinwë. She had inherited her mother's unquenchable energy and her father's noble spirit, and much good – and some painfully regrettable lapses of judgement – came of it.  
  
As for Maitimë - the first time seeing her cousin looking radiant and altogether unfraid in front of the crowded main ballroom of the palace spelled her doom. She, who had continued to gently reject suitors, never quite interested in anyone (and instead sneaking glimpses at the ladies of court and city to furtively admire their sense of fashion), found it hard not to be moved by the person soon to be the center of attention. The sight of Findekániel's black hair was a welcome relief from all the fashion-conscious ladies with hair of false red who even now swarmed the ballroom. Findekániel wore her tresses braided and moved around the dais with easy grace, greeting her family seated there. Her blue-and-silver dress that matched her eyes and emphasized her shape: shorter than Maitimë's own, and with delightfully firm muscles hinted at beneath the fabric. Maitimë swallowed hard, imagining herself unlacing the garment, and was yanked out of her daydream by her brother's discrete cough. "You're blushing," Makalaurë said. "And staring, too," he added. "Do you have a crush on uncle Nolofinwë?"  
  
"Oh do be quiet, I don't." At least, she comforted herself, she was not lying. The truth made for a far greater problem – a woman! Her cousin! She still recalled the little blue-eyed girl kicking about a ball in her uncle's garden, who later fell asleep leaning on her and on Makalaurë, who had been very young himself then. Albeit only a few years from her own maturity, Findekániel was not even of age yet. What did that make Maitimë? She felt like crying – or rather, screaming, and pressed her lips firmly together.  
  
"You're blushing _again_ ," Makalaurë said, sounding a little concerned this time. "Or are you still blushing? What is wrong?"  
  
"Neither. Nothing!" replied Maitimë, a little too high-pitched for comfort, and saw her brother's eyebrows crease while she was casting around for an excuse. She wore no corset like some other ladies, and could not plead forgiveness for difficulty breathing, so instead muttered something about heat – pooling in her belly, although she did not say that – and rushed past the throng of people and into the gardens, sinking onto a bench in a grove of flowering nessamelda trees. Was this what people felt when they fell in lust? She stared at her shaking hands. So far she had believed that particular part of the Laws and Customs to be a tale of morals, of warning against thoughtless unions, never a truism among the growing amount of more serious decrees.  
  
"And you're my cousin, aren't you?" said an unfamiliar voice close to her ear. Maitimë, taken by surprise, jumped. "You're Maitimë."  
  
"Y-yes?" she said, feeling heat rise all the way into her cheeks. She was glad to have picked a shady spot where little light filtered, or Findekániel, if the dark braids she spotted from the corner of her eyes were any indication, would be treated to a very unattractive sight, namely her skin-colour clashing quite fiercely with her hair. This, naturally, was the downside of a porcelain complexion; it was a ready canvas as soon as she felt even the slightest bit flustered, anywhere from a becoming touch of color, to a fully-fledged, as Makalaurë had called it when he was younger, strawberry head.  
  
"Are you well? I saw you rush out just as I was about to start speaking – thank you for that. Speeches are so boring," Findekániel said. "So I begged a brief leave to see what was wrong with you. I'm Findekániel. But you know that, of course, or you wouldn't be here. You told me stories when I was young."  
  
Findekániel seemed blissfully unaware of Maitimë's tensing up at the presence right next to her. She strove to breathe through parted lips, trying to avoid Findekániel's light, but strangely heady perfume, a touch of lemons and mint, and Maitimë felt her palms moisten and her heartbeat pick up. She twisted a strand of hair around her finger, then immediately let go of it when she remembered just what kind of gesture that could be interpreted as. Damn her cousin! She replied feebly, hands now bunching the fabric on her lap, "Yes. I think I did."  
  
"I know you did – I still remember them, they were most marvellous," Findekániel agreed happily. "We should meet again in private now that I returned home. I have a few stories of my own to tell, all sorts. Tulkas' court is a miraculous place, have you ever been there?"  
  
Maitimë shook her head, resigned. It would be better they did not meet again, not if she intended to keep her dignity, her social standing and the good graces of all her family. It would be best for both of them, but the words throbbed in her throat and did not want out. What she said instead was, "I think we should go back inside now. They will all be waiting for you. The fresh air helped; I am feeling much better." Findekániel bounced to her feet in one fluid movement, and held a hand out to Maitimë. "Before we go in, may I ask for the first dance after the speech is over? I'd much rather dance with someone I know than with some stranger."  
  
Maitimë stared at the hand for a moment. Long, slender fingers, sensibly short fingernails dusted silver, and she, who had never suffered from a shortage of imagination, shivered to think how these fingers would feel stroking ever downward over her body, until... _no_. Goodness. No.  
  
"Are you _sure_ you are well? You don't seem it."  
  
"Perhaps I am not," Maitimë replied. Her voice, despite all her attempt at composure, sounded quite shaken and breathy. "It may have been the buffet. Likely the fish spoiled on the road from Alqualondë. Will you give my parents my apology? I had best go home before I... cause a scene."  
  
Findekániel's blue eyes flickered after Maitimë as she gathered up the train of her green silk dress and walked away hastily, to pause at the edge of the gardens by a floral trellis. Even across the distance she could see a small smile crease Findekániel's lips before she turned and went back inside. Maitimë sent a prayer to all the Valar that her cousin would be sufficiently alienated by the strange behaviour that she would no longer insist on any future meetings of the private kind.  
  
* * *  
  
"Maitimë, there is a visitor for you," the announcement rang up from the hall later in the evening – Makalaurë, recently returned, had been the one to open the door to the insistent knocking, and hollered to the upper floor, his voice booming in the high-ceilinged room. Maitimë nearly dropped the book she had picked from the library, and hitching up her skirt raced back into her quarters, trying to undo the laces while she ran. Once there she slipped into her nightdress, and then into bed, stuffing the finery in her hand, hastily, under the bedclothes. There were not many people who would visit her at all, and none at all this far into Telperion's hours – except perhaps a certain cousin who, so her mother had related, had the reputation of being almost unduly bold and forward if she were a man, and being _certainly_ far too unduly bold and forward for any young woman of her standing, as far as expectations in society went. A certain cousin who had been on her mind all evening. Who was now ascending the stairs, responding with laughter to Makalaurë's explanation – the fish. Of course. Maitimë dipped her hand into the glass of water on her nightstand, rubbed it over her face, and hoped that the heat she was feeling rising to her cheeks again gave enough of an impression of illness that Findekániel would believe it.  
  
"Ah, Maitimë, you are awake, how grand!" Findekániel rushed to the bedside the moment she came into sight. "How are you feeling? You are still looking quite flushed." She didn't wait for a reply, but brushed her hand over Maitimë's forehead, and Maitimë couldn't help it, her eyes fluttered shut.  
  
"That is nice," she murmured, and realizing her mistake, added quickly – "I mean, it does feel nice. Your hands are cool, I do feel very... hot."  
  
"Poor love," Findekániel whispered, indecently close to her ear. Maitimë shuddered, for the umpteenth time this night as her thoughts ran away with her yet again. Findekániel's breath didn't quite smell of roses or anything sweet at all, in fact she was sure she caught a whiff of celery – but all the same, that warm breath over her ear... she could imagine well how it would feel elsewhere, and kept her eyes closed firmly, no matter how ridiculous it looked. One glimpse of Findekániel's face and lovely hair, and she'd be utterly, completely lost. It didn't prepare her, not at all, for what was to come next.  
  
"Am I afflicting you so that you must run from me and feign an illness, too?"  
  
In shock, Maitimë opened her eyes, and met Findekániel's. She looked like the proverbial cat that had eaten the canary, the pet fish as second course, and washed them down with all the cream.  
  
Maitimë nearly bolted from the bed, only momentuous effort kept her sitting down. She must have stared at Findekániel like hypnotized; at any rate her cousin soon began to laugh – not a malevolent laugh at all. It was lovely and melodic, and Findekániel's face creased in the most adorable way, showing dimples and just a flash of teeth while she shook with giggles.  
  
Maitimë could not help it, she joined in.  
  
And so did Makalaurë, standing by the door. Findekániel snatched a pillow from the bed and threw it, hitting him square in the face, muffling protest. "Out. This is a girls' matter! And not a word to our parents, or I'll find you, bard boy, and you'll regret it. I earned a medal in excellence at wrestling." She scowled quite fiercely, and Maitimë found her heartbeat pick up a fraction more. Was _everything_ about her cousin perfect?  
  
Makalaurë withdrew, muttering, "And betray knowledge for future use? Never!" With a wink he disappeared, mercifully closing the door behind him.  
  
"How did you know that I had feigned it?" Maitimë asked eventually. With the giggling over, she didn't want to look anywhere, and settled for staring at her hands contritely.  
  
"Easy. You're a rubbish actress, and more than that, there was no fish on the buffet. It had all sorts of delicacies and a delightful selection of vegetables and fruits, but there was no fish whatsoever anywhere in sight. That left only one possible conclusion and I knew I had to pay you a visit." Findekániel chuckled again. "But honestly? I am quite glad that you reacted as you did – I do love a good chase."  
  
"You are a runner, too," Maitimë agreed, still not sure where to look. There was a cobweb in the corner of the wall and ceiling, and she felt like the proverbial fly caught in it. Either her instincts were deserting her entirely, or she had taken leave of her senses, but the way Findekániel kept leaning close, her breasts pressing against Maitimë's shoulder so she could feel her nipples harden underneath the garment, the way she lowered her voice and sought eye contact – she was flirting. And it was maddening. Maitimë swallowed hard, attempting to squash those decidedly unsavoury fantasies, and felt a new wave of heat rising through her while Findekániel was speaking, her glorious lips, just the tip of her tongue peeking between her teeth sometimes... _Eru_! Maitimë's world felt like it had narrowed decidedly, and Findekániel took up all of it.  
  
"Findekániel," she said feebly, and felt courage abandoning her entirely. "I can see what you are doing – I am not entirely innocent. I know you are trying to flirt with me." That she did not want Findekániel to stop at all was quite beside the point. The Laws and Customs, their families – their fathers especially would be at each others' throats if they found out.  
  
Her cousin's beautiful face fell. "You don't like it? Well, but you are reacting rather... strongly... to my presence. Anyone could see that."  
  
"Yes, and that is part of the problem," replied Maitimë, unhappily. "Even if there were such a thing as a _we_ , how would that go unnoticed? For we could not tell, that much is certain," she explained. "I do forgive you, you have not been in Tirion for many years, and matters here have become complicated. Ever since my grandmother's death and grandfather's re-marriage, there have been portions of the Council that pushed for new strictures to govern improper behaviour, and more and more keep being issued to prevent that, or anything abnormal from repeating, so this – how can we...?"  
  
"... be together?" Findekániel said. She, too, had color rising high in her cheeks now, her eyes bright in the dim light of the room. "I like the sound of that."  
  
"You are not listening to me at all! Oh, you are impossible! Has your time at Tulkas' court so turned your head that you see no problem of two women in... love?" Maitimë cleared her throat. She was not even sure it was love, or how much of it was, and yet here she was tossing the word around. Lust, certainly, but the nature of that was shameful enough on its own. Certainly for a woman of her standing. With another woman of similar standing.  
  
"Turned my head? Write to my friend Hericalinkë – she and her twin sister have both entertained lovers for years, male and female alike! And Calinkë, especially, is so keen on the rights of ladies, she will not see a play or read a book that has no two women talking to each other – about anything but a man!" Findekániel enthused. "Of course that ruins her any chances of attending premiere events, which must be why you never met her. She only goes after critiques have been written."  
  
Despite the casual words, Findekániel was leaning closer again, and Maitimë thought she would kiss her now, she certainly could have, had she wanted to – but a moment passed without those glorious lips upon her own, and Maitimë, whose eyes had shut in expectation, curse her instincts!, cracked one lid open again. Her cousin was looking at her, mesmerized.  
  
"You meant to, didn't you?" Findekániel asked, with a grin creeping back into her voice. "And if you did, what do you care about society or strictures? We will make this work – somehow! If not, then let's run away together! No one at Tulkas' court will bat an eye – except at you, and they would feel my fist for that!" Findekániel grinned fiercely, tugging on Maitimë's hand. Her heart fluttered. "Say yes, please do! My mother's letters, when she could sit still long enough to write one, mentioned how much imagination you had in all sorts of things, all your scholarly pursuits – and she wrote about your beauty, and she wasn't wrong in that, so why should she be wrong in this? I would love to learn what things play out in your fair head."  
  
Maitimë was certain that was not the case – or not entirely, and wondered if Anairë had exaggerated  the success in her studies. "Do you get seasick quickly?" She bit her tongue. What an idiotic question, and such a leap of logic!  
  
"What?" Findekániel's face twitched in momentary confusion. "I mean – I don't know. The last time I was sailing at Alqualondë with my family, the Lord Ossë left the sea calm as a mirror, there barely were waves worth the description, if I recall it right. And not very much sailing, for lack of wind. But then I was rather young. So I can't say, not with certainty. But I doubt I would be."  
  
"Then it is unfair that my mind should be churning up a storm! Maitimë cried. "Alqualondë could not weather the waves that rush about in my head; they would have Tol Eressëa sink! And the fault is yours entirely, so you ought to be the one to bear the brunt of them!" she moaned, sinking back into her pillows. "Would that I could have them stop! Would that you could have my doubts!"  
  
Findekániel looked on, concerned.  
  
"I would take them from you, if I only could. Tell me how."  
  
Maitimë sighed. "I have already told you all my problems with – us. Aside the fact that such a whirlwind romance is entirely unlike me, and I will disappoint my family's expectations, either by revealing this, or by hiding it from them and lying to them. They would have me bear children of some lord. I am expected to conform. They have already been kind to me, not forcing me to marry... I am not sure that will continue so, not forever."  
  
"We are the eldest scions of the family. Of course they would expect us to – but we have brothers. If we wheedle some, they'll surely let us have our ways, alone or with each other. Not that they will need to know, as you already said. You want me. And I want you. Where is the problem?"  
  
"Where is the problem?" echoed Maitimë. "I have just listed mine, but if listening is so hard for you – this is not about some petty instincts. There is not – there is no word, nothing, in the stories that even names two women with each other. It is unthinkable."  
  
"We are both thinking it. It's not." Findkániel grinned once more, fiercely again, joy all but blazing from her eyes.  
  
"You are enjoying this," said Maitimë, finally understanding. "It was all part of your plan!"  
  
"Well, yes! We are turning in circles – and you, you promised me a dance."  
  
"I never replied to that!"  
  
"You didn't disagree either. And I had my dancing now, so sleep well, my dear love. I best ought to go home before you grow any more agitated." Findekániel rose from the bed, ducking a pillow that Maitimë, outraged, threw after her, where it joined the one that already lay by the door. "I will seek you out again. Try and make up your mind."  
  
She blew a kiss and flitted from the room. Maitimë's final pillow hit the closing door; it never even occured to her to run after her cousin. Oh no, not her. She still had that much dignity.

**Author's Note:**

> Apart from attempting to pass the Bechdel Test with the chapter, there's also some lampshading going on: Unless my research turned up bogus etymology, Bechdel is a diminutive form of original Germanic Bechtwald, translating to "bright ruler", and my attempt to construct a fitting Quenya name resulted in Hericalinkë, "bright little lady".


End file.
